


Of Family and Sharp Things

by LadyLuthien



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Romance, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuthien/pseuds/LadyLuthien
Summary: Hawke gets hurt and her friends take care of her, so Leandra insists they stay for dinner as a thank-you. Cute family charm, with the subtle fluffy hints of a burgeoning FenHawke romance. It was a one-shot and then whoops I went and wrote another chapter - I'm trying to connect the various scraps of fanfic I have into a cohesive whole.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time sharing my fic, so feedback/thoughts/advice on how to get my spacing to suck less/anything else are super welcome! (specifically the spacing, it keeps ending up either Way Too Spaced or a solid block of text and I don't understand)

No matter how times Fenris saw Hawke wounded in battle, it still dug at him. More than any of the others, even if he hated to admit it. This time, though, he had not seen the impact, and now he disengaged his sword from the corpse of the last carta thug and ran to her side as she crumpled ever so slowly to the pavement. Aveline laid her own foe out with a single hard blow from her shield and was close behind him.

  
“Hawke.” Her brow was furrowed in pain, and he gently laid a hand on her arm, assessing the stab wound in her shoulder. “Do you have a potion on you?”

  
Hawke shook her head, teeth gritted.

  
“Magic, then,” Fenris whispered after a brief glance. “You are seriously injured.” Part of him recoiled at his own suggestion, but her pained breathing was enough to convince him.

“Too many people,” she hissed. “I need to get inside.”

  
“We’re near Gamlen’s house, aren’t we?” Aveline asked, looking around. A few of the walkers still out this late at night were starting to stop and gawk at the scene. Fenris winced. This was a lot of bodies even for Lowtown.

“Good idea, Avvie,” Hawke grimaced. “Help me up, wll you?”

  
“I can help you,” Fenris interjected before Aveline could reply. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

  
“You’re all spiky,” she grumbled, but complied, choosing a spot towards the back of his neck. Her fingers were cold against his skin - she was already losing too much blood. Carefully, he slipped one arm around her waist and hoisted her to her feet. She was tiny in his arms, skinnier than he realized, but stronger, too. He could feel the muscles clenching under her robes with each shuddering breath.

  
“Which way are we going?” He asked, once she was up.

  
“Left, and then left again.” Hawke took a step, and he almost stumbled before he found and matched her pace. Slowly, they made their way down the street, Aveline keeping a lookout for further trouble.

  
“Up these stairs,” Hawke eventually murmured against his neck. Aveline, walking ahead, did not hear her, so Fenris nodded, stopping in front of the steps. When he did, Hawke sagged against him alarmingly.

  
“Aveline,” he called, trying to hide the concern in his voice. “I think it’s this one.”

  
“Right!” Aveline hurried back. “It’s been so long. Come on, let’s get her in.”

  
Fenris looked over at his charge. Normally, she was almost his height, but with the way she was leaning into him now, she was barely at his shoulder. “Hawke, may I pick you up?”

  
She lifted her head and blinked at him woozily. Her whole sleeve was red, and he decided there was no time for courtesy. Bending slightly, he slipped his other arm under her knee and lifted her, as gently as he could manage.

  
She gave a gasp of pain and mumbled an objection, before nuzzling her face into his neck. His heart warmed slightly, despite the fear eating at it. To know that she trusted him to this extent, even when she was so vulnerable... it made him feel more like a free man than anything he could think of. Gently, he took the first step, trying to jostle her as little as possible.

  
Her staff banged painfully against his knees as he carried her up the stairs. Aveline brushed past them to knock on the door, and a sour-looking man opened it. “Do you have a warrant?”

  
“Oh, in the name of Andraste -” Aveline hissed, before resuming her composure. “It’s me, Gamlen. Hawke’s hurt and we need to get her some elfroot, unless you want to explain to Leandra why her daughter is bleeding all over the doorstep.”

  
A smaller woman appeared beside Gamlen in the doorway. “Is she alright?” Her hand flew to her mouth at the sight of Fenris, holding Hawke slightly apologetically.

  
Fenris felt a little tap on his shoulder. “Let me down,” Hawke whispered, her breath moving the strands of hair by his ear. “Before Mother goes into conniptions.”

  
Fenris obeyed, as gently as possible, but she still gasped with pain and leaned on her staff, then the doorway, to make it inside. Leandra caught her and guided her to a seated position on the floor, and Fenris and Aveline followed them inside. Gamlen, huffing quietly, closed the door behind them.

  
Leandra was carefully applying medicine to her daughter’s cut, and Gamlen was glowering at him like it was his fault. Awkwardly, Fenris looked around the room. It was small, with walls of unfinished wood and some rough-hewn furniture. A single rag rug protected the floor, and torches had left smokestains on the walls. An ominous bark had him lay a hand on his sword before he heard Aveline’s call - “Come here, boy!”

  
Fenris turned and saw Aveline plowed to the ground by a fully grown Mabari that seemed overjoyed to see her. “Yeah, I missed you too,” she crooned, twining her fingers in its thick fur. “Yeah I did.” The dog licked her enthusiastically.

  
Fenris shook his head and turned back to Hawke. She was less grey now, and as he watched, her mother helped her up. Hawke laid a palm on the cut, glistening with ointment, and, a quick glow later, the wound was all but closed, if red around the edges. She grinned ruefully at her mother.

  
“Sorry about the robe. Do you mind a little mending?”

  
“Of course not. I’m just glad you’re okay -” Leandra looked a little teary-eyed, and Fenris looked away again as she pulled her daughter into a tight hug. He remembered what Hawke had said about her sister. No wonder Leandra was so concerned.

  
“And you, too -” And then he was being pulled into a hug, entirely against his will, by a small, tearful grey-haired woman with all of Hawke’s surprising strength and stubbornness. Fortunately, the hug was tolerably brief, and she let him go almost immediately to smile at him. Behind her, Hawke was hiding her laughter behind her hand, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

  
“Mother, Fenris wears spikes for a reason. At least ask before you hug him,” she chided lovingly, putting an arm around Leandra. “Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate the help.”  
“It was my pleasure,” he said, courteously, and found that it was true. He was glad to have been there, glad that Hawke was alright.

  
“Will you stay for dinner? I’ve made a stew. It’s so nice to be in Kirkwall where there are real spices again.” Leandra somehow managed to phrase the question as a statement that he could not refuse.

  
“We don’t need to take in strangers.” Gamlen spoke for the first time. “Things are tight enough as it is.”

  
“And these people saved my daughter’s life. We can afford to thank them.” Fenris was reminded suddenly of what Hawke had said, that her mother had been nobility before leaving Kirkwall. He could see the authority in her demeanor. He would not have argued with her either, he thought when Gamlen merely scoffed and turned away.

  
The chairs did not match, and neither did the bowls. Fenris could see the pain in Leandra’s eyes when she handed him one with a small chip in it. He had no words to explain how little he cared. Sitting together with them, around the fire in the small hearth, with a mabari drooling uncontrollably on his foot, felt messy and beautiful and almost, for a split second, like belonging. Aveline, Hawke, and Leandra chatted easily, but he was happy to simply sit there, absorbing the feeling of being wanted. He had never felt this kind of companionship, at least that he could remember. Sometimes, after his master had gone to bed, he and the other slaves had eaten in the kitchen together, and that had been good, but it had been a luxury granted by someone else. This - this he had earned, and was free to have or abandon, as he willed.

  
“Copper for your thoughts.” Hawke was at his elbow, hand outstretched for his empty soup bowl.

  
“I was thinking about Tevinter.” The honest answer slipped out before he could stop it, and he gazed into the fire so as to not meet her gaze.

  
“Oh, so just happy things,” she teased, laughing, and he turned back to hand her his bowl.

  
“Yes,” he said, forcing himself to look up and meet her eyes. “This time, it was.”


	2. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday I will connect these little drabbles with more than just tenuous connections. Hawke's first proper conversation with Fenris, fleshed out - also known as the moment she realizes she has a teensy crush.

A week later, Hawke decided to visit Fenris. She had found a whetstone, wrapped in a small polishing cloth, on the corpse of a Tal Vashoth she had slain on the Wounded Coast and pocketed it absently, aware that she hardly needed either for her staff. Fenris, on the other hand, had both a sword and armor, and likely few other possessions. Besides, she still felt a little like she owed him. 

The summer night was cool as she slipped up to Hightown, keeping out of sight of robbers and Templars alike. Neither wished a woman like her well. Slipping into his doorway, she checked the courtyard before carefully opening the door and stepping inside. 

The manor was messy, but in a way that belied its cleanliness. Yes, broken furniture and corpses lay strewn about the main hall, but a close inspection revealed disturbingly little dust and empty armor. Hawke smiled at the thought of Fenris dusting, spiky gauntlets forming a delicate grip on a feather duster. The idea was patently ridiculous, but she supposed he needed to clean somehow. It was hard to imagine the taciturn elf as domestic. Carefully wiping the smirk from her face, Hawke raised a hand and knocked softly on Fenris’ bedroom door.

A shuffle, and then the door opened a crack, revealing white hair and a single emerald green eye. “Hawke. Come in.”

The door opened all the way, revealing Fenris’ slight form, silhouetted in front of the fire. For once, he was without his armor, dressed in only a sleeveless black tunic and the leggings he usually wore. His arms were bare, and the swoops and whorls of lyrium reflected the firelight in an elegant pattern. One hand held a wine bottle loosely by the neck, and Hawke realized that he had been drinking. 

“Hello, Fenris,” Hawke said with a smile, slipping through the door and taking a seat by the fire. “What are you drinking?”

“Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles of it in the cellar.” Fenris raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. “Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated him, he said, which he enjoyed.”

Hawke watched him in the firelight. Without his armor, he seemed smaller, more youthful, but no less intimidating. There was a predatory strength to him, concealed within his graceful movements, that she knew from experience was not to be trifled with. The lean muscles moved underneath his tunic with a sinuous power even at rest. He was a handsome man, she realized with a flutter that surprised even her.  _ Oh no. _

“I can’t imagine why they would be put off.” The words slipped out without her permission, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Got another glass in that?” she asked, to cover her embarrassment.

Fenris gave her a strange look, before nodding and retrieving a goblet from the mantlepiece. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, handing it to her.

“It was meant as one,” Hawke replied with a cheeky smile, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. His laugh warmed her, though, and she realized that it was freer than usual. This was clearly not his first bottle of wine, although he did not appear to be unreasonably drunk. 

Fenris toasted her with his bottle and raised it to his lips again. Swiftly, he drained the last of it, then twisted with a swordsman’s grace to hurl it against the wall. Hawke jumped as the glass shattered. 

Fenris looked back at her, a bitter light in his eyes. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things.” 

Hawke wanted to rise and hug him, but past experience had taught her that he would not respond kindly to it. “You hate him so much, then,” She said instead, gently.

“Danarius owned me like property! He made me kill for him, made me fetch and carry for him, made me -” Fenris’ words seemed to fail him, and he turned away from her, his face hidden in shadow. After a moment, he spoke again. “Until he is dead, I will never truly have my freedom. He will hunt me wherever I go.” There was a tiredness in his voice now. 

“More than that, he’s in your thoughts, isn’t he?” Hawke asked after a moment.

Fenris nodded, still not turning back to her. “I thought I could leave my past behind me, but it won’t stay there.” His voice was thick with frustration. 

Hawke rose in a rustle of robes. “I...” she looked down, searching for the words to frame her question. “Fenris, may I touch you?”

He looked back at her now, eyes briefly, eerily, reflecting the firelight. Then he extended his hand to her, palm up. 

Slowly, keeping her eyes on his face, Hawke reached out a hand of her own. Brushing her fingertips lightly over his palm, she gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and after a moment, he did the same to hers. She could feel the lyrium buzzing against her skin, uncannily alive compared to the potions she was used to. His palm was calloused, but his fingers surprisingly gentle even as they gripped her forearm with more strength than was belied by his posture. Slowly, Hawke returned the pressure.

His eyes were trained on her, and she raised her own to meet them. Her breath caught at the naked pain she could see in them, and she tried, without speaking, to communicate everything she felt - her compassion, how proud she was of him, and how fiercely she would protect him if the time came. Perhaps he understood, because after a moment his gaze softened and his lips parted slightly, as if to speak. 

The words never came, though, and instead Fenris closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then relaxed his grip on her arm. Giving her an apologetic half-smile, he moved to sit by the fire, and Hawke followed him. 

“Have you never wanted to return to Fereldan?” He asked, composure seemingly restored, and Hawke sat in the neighboring chair with a heavy sigh. 

“When I first came here, it was all I could think about. I missed the open fields of Lothering, the heather and the simple wooden houses, the small Chantry with the bell on top. I was overwhelmed by the noise of Kirkwall. There was so much hustle and bustle, the buildings were too big, and I was never able to be alone even when I needed to be. But now...” She shrugged, looking into the fire. “The Blight tainted Lothering. Nothing will grow there for who knows how long. There is no going back, even if I wanted to.” She shook her head and grinned up at him. “Besides, there’s way too much trouble to get into here.”

He smiled at that. “But you could return to your country, if you wished.”

Hawke shrugged. “I guess. If I wished.”

“I understand. Still, to have the option must be gratifying.” Fenris looked away from her, deep into the flames.

“I thought you liked Kirkwall,” Hawke said, surprised.

“And I do.” Fenris leaned back in his chair. “I have never had a home, at least not that I can remember. Tevinter was no home, and since then I have been always on the run. At any point, Danarius may catch up to me and I will be forced to either face him or flee, again.”

“I hope you stay.” Hawke retrieved her glass of wine from where it sat, abandoned, on the nearby table. Taking a sip, she added, “I can’t help you kick that rat-faced bastard’s ass otherwise.”

That made him chuckle, as she knew it would. Every time she mocked his master, it was as if some of the tension he always carried unknotted itself. She supposed that it was because her mockery reminded him that Danarius held less power here, but it was still good to see him relax. His shoulders seemed tight through the rough linen tunic he wore. If he would let her touch him long enough, she could work through those knots, help release -

Hawke forcibly drew her mind back to the topic at hand, internally horrified. Of all the people to develop a crush on, the prickly ex-slave was the single worst possible candidate. Maker, he wouldn’t even let her hug him. And her mother would never forgive her for courting someone who would only wound their prospects of reclaiming the family estate. Oh no, now she had thought the word courting.

And yet... Unbidden, Hawke remembered his face when she had called him handsome, the shock and the shy giggle so incongruous with his appearance. Perhaps just flirting with him would not be so terrible. Purely without intentions, of course.

“I should thank you again for helping me with the hunters,” Fenris said suddenly, seemingly roused from thought. “Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.” He was grinning at her, a light dancing in his eyes that could only partially be blamed on the wine, and Hawke felt a hopeful warmth that had nothing to do with her own glass. 

“Now you’re just flattering me,” she teased, smiling back at him. “I think I should be the one thanking Anso.” The wine was making her lightheaded already, and she realized she had forgotten dinner. 

His smile turned sly in a way that made her heart flutter. “Perhaps you should be.” 

“Oh, I forgot,” Hawke said suddenly, feeling in her belt pocket. “I found this on the Wounded Coast and thought you’d like it.” She extended the small bundle, and he took it from her delicately, slender fingers deftly unwrapping it.

“I...” He looked up at her, what looked like wonder in his eyes. “Thank you. This is a kind gift.”

“Of course - I figured you could use it more than me, after all.” Hawke jerked a thumb at her staff.

“You are a very generous person, Hawke,” Fenris mused, turning the whetstone over in his fingers.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, confused. “How do you figure that?”

“When we met, you gave me the amulet.” He tapped his chest, and she saw the outline of the pendant. “Now, you are giving me another gift. Practical, to be sure, but hardly necessary for my continuing utility.”

“Well, no,” Hawke said, still baffled. “Gifts aren’t... like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” Hawke fumbled for the words. “You don’t get someone a gift because it’ll make them help you more. You get them a gift because you like them and think they’d enjoy the thing.”

“I...see.” Fenris blinked, apparently as confused as she was. “Slaves do not get gifts,” he offered by way of explanation.

“Not even on birthdays and stuff?” Hawke asked, appalled. She supposed she should have expected this, but... “Or from other slaves? Friends?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t know what day I was born. No slave does. It is not deemed important.” His voice was bitter again.

Hawke was shaking with anger. “It’s absolutely important. Fenris, you should pick a birthday.”

“To what end?” He asked, raising his eyes to hers. Their brilliant green was somewhat distracting, but Hawke plowed on regardless.

“So your friends can have a day to appreciate you! That’s what birthdays are for.” She forced herself to calm her tone a little. “And giving gifts, of course.”

Fenris appraised her for a moment, his face unreadable. “I am not used to having friends,” he said after a moment.

“Well, friends don’t care if you’re used to it or not. We’re sticking by you.” Hawke folded her arms stubbornly, and saw a corner of his mouth twitch. 

“Thank you, Hawke,” he said finally. “I will consider what you have said.”

When she finally left, much later, the night had turned downright cold. Fenris stood at the doorway until she was out of sight, and she waved goodbye as she turned out of his courtyard. Only then did she give a shiver that had nothing to do with the night air and pound the heel of her hand into the stone wall at her side. The light sting cleared her head, and she leaned against the wall for a moment, taking deep breaths. Cursed elf. He had no right to be so... everything. 

But Hawke was grinning despite herself, and as she walked off into the darkness, her mind was already racing with ideas. Perhaps next she would get him sweets, or something else completely impractical. That would show him what gifts were all about.  

  
  



End file.
